


Adjustment

by hrhrionastar



Series: The Honeyverse [6]
Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Episode: s01e22 Reckoning, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrhrionastar/pseuds/hrhrionastar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a pregnant Lady Rahl ministers to the sick, Dahlia saves a life and stops a plot, and Lord Rahl institutes a non-discrimination policy. Set slightly less than a year after Darken and Kahlan's marriage in <i>Reckoning.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Adjustment

"I will pray for your swift recovery." Lady Rahl's voice was low, and infused with unusual warmth.

She stood at the bedside of a man whose skin was badly burned, clasping one of his hands in both of hers. Candlelight fell in a soft halo around her, highlighting the gold embroidery on the bodice of her gown and the ruby set in the center of her Rada'Han.

To complete the picture of life-giving benevolence, Lady Rahl was visibly pregnant. The child's birth was still several moons away, but the organic curve of Lady Rahl's stomach made her appear warmly maternal. Only her cold eyes didn't match, and perhaps the burn victim didn't notice.

"May the Creator bless you, Mother Confessor," the sufferer gasped.

And that was another thing, thought Mistress Dahlia of the Mord'Sith. Mother Confessor. Why 'mother'? Certainly the term could be considered appropriate now, but what of Lady Rahl's previous life as the Seeker's chaste partner in chaos?

Furthermore, 'Mother Confessor' was not a title likely to win Lady Rahl much respect in D'Hara.

Of course, the man on the bed was not D'Haran. The hospital wasn't even in D'Hara, although this village and all the rest of the Midlands were part of the empire.

"May Her light guide you always," Lady Rahl said ritualistically.

She then proceeded down the line of beds, offering comforting words to every languishing soul in the newly operational hospital.

Only the discipline of years of training kept Dahlia from pointing out that nothing Lady Rahl could say or do would hasten the recovery of the patients. They would survive or not without any help from her.

Even the Healers succumbed to Lady Rahl's sentimental drivel. They followed her around as worshipfully as slaves, steering her away from those patients whose injuries or illnesses were too severe to permit them to hear her call down the Creator's blessing upon them.

As Lord Rahl had made it plain to Dahlia that he was holding her personally responsible for Lady Rahl's welfare in this new People's Hospital, the Healers' abject devotion to the queen was probably a good thing.

Illness was one of the few enemies a Mord'Sith couldn't fight, although there was always the Breath of Life.

If he were so concerned for Lady Rahl's health and that of the unborn heir, Lord Rahl could have prevented his wife from coming here.

He seemed strangely loath to restrict her movements.

Which left Dahlia, here, watching Lady Rahl lead a prayer circle with most of the Healers and those of the patients healthy enough for such an exercise.

Dahlia stood by the door with her hands clasped behind her back, and rolled her eyes.

* * *

They spent the next night on the road, traveling back to the People's Palace. Dahlia arranged to hire all the rooms in the inn for Lady Rahl and her escort, and herself spent part of the night on guard outside the queen's room.

She shared the night watch with the other two Mord'Sith accompanying them, Mistresses Becky and Lisa. Ordinarily such guard duty would be a task for the more junior soldiers of the Dragon Corps, on this trip Lieutenants Reva and Kinley, but they weren't in the People's Palace now.

There remained some ambiguity about whether the Mord'Sith were guarding Lady Rahl's safety or preventing her escape, although Lord Rahl maintained that as a woman of honor, his wife would not even look for an opportunity to flee the palace and reorganize the resistance, despite the fact that as the Seeker's Confessor, she was an admitted enemy of the empire.

The next morning, Lady Rahl refused to enter the carriage designated for her conveyance.

"I will ride," she said.

Lady Rahl was with child. Also, she was wearing a gown as plain as a queen's wardrobe could provide, and her long hair hung loose in a dark cloud spilling down past her shoulders. It seemed likely that she would slow their journey significantly by riding rather than traveling in the carriage.

Furthermore, this would mean Lieutenant Kinley would have to give up his bay stallion, and appropriate another mount from the innkeeper.

"Of course, my lady," Dahlia said impassively.

* * *

They were not more than a league from the capital when the flaming arrow came hurtling through the peaceful spring air and struck the empty traveling carriage.

Dahlia's head snapped toward the source of the shot, her eyes sweeping the surrounding foliage.

Thus she saw the next arrow. Apparently, the unknown archer had recognized Lady Rahl; the arrow flew straight toward her chest, just below the ruby of her Rada'Han.

Lady Rahl stared at it. She didn't move.

Dahlia leaned perilously out of the saddle and snatched the flying arrow in one gloved hand seconds before it would have pierced the queen's heart.

Dahlia snapped the arrow in two and dropped it to the grass below.

Behind them, the traveling carriage was burning merrily.

Ahead was the assassin.

Dahlia's blood was up, and she longed to give chase herself.

But there could be more than one assassin lurking in the woods. Protecting Lady Rahl was her first priority.

Captain Meiffert and Lieuntenants Reva and Kinley had closed ranks around Lady Rahl, forming a diamond with Dahlia on the queen's left.

At Dahlia's gesture, Mistresses Becky and Lisa rode toward the source of the disturbance, the joy of the hunt in their eyes.

"Why did you save me?" Lady Rahl asked, but not as though she truly wished for an answer. She held out her left hand, watching her golden wedding ring sparkle in the sunlight. "One arrow, and it would be over. But this is going to go on and on."

"No, it's not," Dahlia said grimly.

Becky and Lisa would catch the assassin, and she would find out the names of his friends, and make them all rue the day they threatened the queen of D'Hara.

It would all be over in a matter of weeks at the most.

* * *

"You don't understand!" the prisoner cried. "I was trying to save Lord Rahl!"

Garen finished tightening the chains that suspended the man from the ceiling and raised a sardonic eyebrow at Dahlia.

Lady Rahl's would-be assassin was a man in his early thirties, just a touch of gray at his temples, but the body under his ragged peasant clothing was honed and hardened like that of a soldier.

Mistresses Becky and Lisa had found no one else skulking in the woods, and Lady Rahl had been returned safely to the palace, but it seemed unlikely the man was working alone. How had he known the route the queen and her escort would take on their return from the hospital?

Furthermore, the man's clothing was stained and torn, but his bow was well made, and his aim had been good, too.

Dahlia waited. If her prisoner wanted to talk, it would be unwise not to listen.

"The Mother Confessor has poisoned his mind!" the man spoke with the absolute conviction of either truth or madness. "Once the Midlands were our rightful prey, and now that the Seeker is gone they have no further defenses. We should have shown them their inferiority once and for all. Instead Lord Rahl builds hospitals and orphanages for the resistance, and makes that soul-stealing witch a queen!"

Bitterness overrode fear, and the prisoner appeared almost to have forgotten that he was hanging by his wrists in a Mord'Sith temple.

"Once she is dead, her power over Lord Rahl will be broken," he continued. "You can't let her destroy D'Hara!"

"Who told you where Lady Rahl would be, and where did you get this?" Dahlia asked, gesturing to the great curved wooden bow.

She watched this man who hated Lady Rahl, her eyes as coolly reflective as the stained glass windows in Lord Rahl's study. Although she had not yet drawn her agiels, the danger in the room was palpable.

The prisoner seemed to realize his audience was less than entirely sympathetic.

"Let me go, and I'll kill her," he begged. "Lord Rahl will reward us all once the Mother Confessor is dead."

Garen and Dahlia shared a look of mutual comprehension. Even had the prisoner been right about Lady Rahl, she was Lord Rahl's wife and she carried his child. Lord Rahl was extremely possessive of anyone and anything he considered as belonging to him, which in practice meant everyone and everything.

Dahlia guessed how furious he must be that Cara had passed forever out of his reach.

She blinked suddenly watery eyes, and forced her mind back to the problem of Lady Rahl.

Confessor she might be, but Lady Rahl's powers were bound by a Rada'Han. Possibly its jeweled appearance had misled her attacker.

Furthermore, Lord Rahl was immune to Confession. He had only acquired this power about a year ago, but already he behaved as if it had always been his, and the D'Haran people seemed to take pride in their lord's invulnerability to a fate most of them feared more than death.

And, of course, had Lady Rahl somehow been able to confess Lord Rahl, the Mord'Sith would have felt it. Dahlia herself was always subliminally aware of the bond between Lord Rahl and his people, and she had known without being told that Lady Rahl was with child.

A child whose life this man had threatened.

"You didn't answer my question," Dahlia said sweetly. She drew her agiel and stepped closer to the prisoner. "Tell me the names of your friends."

"I acted alone," the man lied.

Dahlia drove the agiel against his stomach.

The prisoner screamed.

* * *

"He has a point, you know," Garen commented later that evening.

She and Dahlia were in the baths, washing off the blood and tension of the day.

Dahlia squeezed the water from a handful of her honey-colored hair and raised her eyebrows.

"Not about Lord Rahl having lost his mind," Garen hastened to explain. "When has he ever shown any desire to prolong the war with the Midlands? But Lady Rahl is with child, and I doubt Lord Rahl will chain his heir's powers with a Rada'Han."

Dahlia doubted it also. Lord Rahl wanted this child more than he would ever admit, to himself or anyone else.

Dahlia saw the way his eyes softened when he watched Lady Rahl, and she had not forgotten the day the queen had straightened suddenly in her throne and exclaimed, "the baby's kicking!" Lord Rahl had dismissed an entire throne room full of petitioners, soldiers, Mord'Sith, and general hangers-on. Just before she left, Dahlia had seen him place a hand reverently over Lady Rahl's stomach, to feel the tiny flickers of movement through his wife's skin.

The memory brought back others, of a different pregnancy, and Dahlia ducked her head back under the water for a moment. When she surfaced, Garen was still watching her.

Garen passed Dahlia the soap, and rested her elbow on the side of the pool. "The child will be a Confessor," she observed.

The rest of the thought was not spoken, but it hardly needed to be. A Confessor's touch was death to a Mord'Sith. It was also rumored to be more painful than it was possible to imagine, but Dahlia cherished doubts about that. Some people did not possess much imagination.

Dahlia gestured, and Garen turned around in the water. Dahlia began kneading her sister's back, with slow, soothing strokes. Her expert fingers massaged the stress from Garen's body.

She leaned closer to Garen, her chin resting briefly on the other Mord'Sith's shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was low but very firm.

"The child," said Dahlia, "will be a Rahl."

* * *

It would have taken Denna a week to break the prisoner. But she always made everything so personal.

Dahlia had not been especially surprised when Denna betrayed Lord Rahl. One of her greatest strengths was her ability to empathize with her pets, but it had proved a weakness when she tried to break the Seeker.

Denna had taught Dahlia the efficacy of taking it slow, however. So it took her five whole days to break the assassin and learn the entirety of the plot to kill Lady Rahl.

On the third day, she was interrupted by a timid knock on the open chamber door.

Inside the Mord'Sith temple, the doors were seldom either shut or locked; there was no blocking out the screams, and the general consensus was that the junior mistresses might learn by observation.

Dahlia nodded to Garen to take over, and strolled to the doorway.

Her visitor was a young blonde woman in the uniform of a maid, with pale eyes dilated with terror. "M-mistress," she stammered, "the queen req-quires your presence."

Dahlia waited, letting the comparative silence lengthen. The background screams hardly registered in her awareness, but the maid trembled visibly.

"Very well," Dahlia said, tiring of the game.

Even terrorizing the servants had palled, now that Cara was not here to tell her it was folly, and that one day a kitchen maid would slip poison into her cherry elfwine.

The sickly sweet liquor contained a high enough percentage of alcohol that even the taste of bitterly astringent, lemony plagueroot would be entirely disguised. Cara said—Cara _used_ to say the drink alone would be the death of Dahlia someday.

The queen's maid led Dahlia up several flights of stairs, past the throne room and the library, to the east wing. Had Dahlia taken the time, she could have found Lady Rahl's chambers herself, but it was simpler to follow the maid.

"M-mistress Dahlia, my lady," quavered the maid.

"Thank you, Alice," Lady Rahl said, both acknowledgement and dismissal.

She rose as the maid scurried away, and Dahlia took in the room with one swift glance.

The chamber to which Lady Rahl's maid had taken her was a reasonably pretty room, with a neatly made bed and several pieces of heavy mahogany furniture.

Lady Rahl herself had been seated at a desk upon which was piled a good deal of parchment. Judging by the neat columns of figures and letters, Dahlia guessed them to be plans and reports concerning the new hospitals and orphanages for the resistance.

Lady Rahl weighed down the pile with a truly exquisite emerald earring. Its mate was currently marking the queen's place in a heavy book of D'Haran history, open on the bed.

There was a parchment-thin china cup and saucer at one corner of the desk, and a white-gold tiara set with diamonds hooked over the ornately curliqued edge of a mirror hung on the wall.

In fact, Dahlia thought, there must have been a small fortune in jewels strewn carelessly about Lady Rahl's room. Mostly rubies, but here and there other brightly colored precious stones, most notably those emeralds.

She remembered the grievance of her prisoner, that Lord Rahl was pouring gold into the conquered Midlands. But she doubted even he would begrudge Lady Rahl these jewels.

It was all part of the pageant of royalty: Lord Rahl's heavy brocade robes for state occasions, the antique crib someone had dragged down from the attic for the heir, the rich wooden furniture, the mosaic ceiling in Lord Rahl's bedchamber, even the traditional Mord'Sith braid.

Shorn hair would be more practical, and Dahlia was fairly certain the symbolic meaning of the braid had been lost to history.

Lord Rahl always said that it was possible to know a good deal about someone by his or her things.

Dahlia's own room in the palace temple was almost entirely bare, but she did have her harp, an old silk mask Cara had worn during the masquerade ball a few years ago, and a pair of warm slippers she had made herself, after Garen had taught several of the Mord'Sith how to knit, with the excuse that the needles were almost as good as daggers.

Lady Rahl's room, for all its air of busy occupancy, seemed somehow temporary. The queen spent time here, but this was not where she _lived._

"Well?" Lady Rahl asked. "Why was I attacked this time?"

A frown flitted across Dahlia's face. 'This time'?

Then she remembered. Just after the wedding, some lunatic member of the disbanded resistance had tried to murder Lady Rahl, hoping to blame her death on Lord Rahl and restart the war.

It was misleading to call it a war, in any case. Lord Rahl had already conquered the Midlands when the Seeker appeared, galvanizing the Midlands into an ultimately futile attempt to win back their freedom.

Now that the Seeker was gone, and Lord Rahl had wed the Mother Confessor, the Midlands appeared to be settling down and accepting their destiny as part of the D'Haran Empire. Probably all the gold Lord Rahl was throwing at the new hospitals and orphanages had something to do with it, Dahlia thought cynically.

Belatedly, she answered the queen's question.

"The assassin believes that you have bewitched Lord Rahl, making him a slave to do your bidding," she explained coolly.

Lady Rahl stared at her. Then she started to laugh.

Dahlia waited.

Lady Rahl kept laughing.

There was a hysterical edge to it now. Lady Rahl was laughing the way some people cried, in great gulping gasps that shook her whole body and stole her breath.

Watching, Dahlia became concerned.

She drew her hand back and slapped Lady Rahl's cheek, hard enough to leave a stinging red mark that stood out against the queen's pale face.

Lady Rahl's freckles were suddenly very visible. She was white with rage, except for her reddened cheek and her blazing blue eyes.

But at least she was no longer gasping for breath.

Faster than thought, she grasped Dahlia's throat. Her tapering, elegant fingers were stronger than they appeared.

Dahlia knew Lady Rahl could not confess her.

Nonetheless, a flicker of fear swept through her.

She gripped the hilts of her agiels in wordless answer to Lady Rahl's challenge. Their power hummed through Dahlia's blood with reassuring familiarity and thence, indirectly, into Lady Rahl's taut fingers.

The queen's lips tightened at the pain, but she waited a long moment before releasing Dahlia.

The downward sweep of her opened hand was both graceful and deeply bitter.

"Thank you," Lady Rahl said, resuming their conversation as if nothing had happened. "Keep me informed."

"Of course, my lady," Dahlia agreed at once.

It occurred to her, as she made her way back to the temple, that Lord Rahl had not wed the Mother Confessor merely to placate the Midlands with a show of love and sacrifice and sweetness.

* * *

Dahlia did not know the name of the man she had broken until his execution.

General Egremont read out the charges in a voice trained for command, still strong even in age.

Lord and Lady Rahl stood together, not touching. On each of their faces was the same impassive mask of royalty.

The assassin, Sigmund Trev, was a deserter from the D'Haran army. Dahlia had learned during the five days she'd spent training him that he had lost a brother to the Seeker, and a cousin to Lady Rahl's Confessor touch.

This explained his vehement hatred for the queen, but the plot to kill her had originated with Trev's master, young Lord Tarquin.

With peace came prosperity. So Lord Rahl claimed, and so it proved, for the most part.

There were always those who profited by war and chaos.

Lord Tarquin had sold weapons to the resistance. Disbanded, disheartened after the Seeker's death, and pathetically grateful for the amnesty, the members of the resistance no longer had the courage or the resources to pay for the swords and arrows and poisons Lord Tarquin could provide.

Lord Rahl's marriage was the center of the peace, his queen and unborn heir his promises for a better future.

Their deaths would have torn apart the fragile accord between D'Hara and the Midlands.

Unless, Dahlia thought, Lord Rahl could have turned even such a personal tragedy to his advantage. It was never wise to discount him.

As Lord Tarquin, Sigmund Trev, and the upstairs maid who had reported the queen's activities, had found.

* * *

"Although Tarquin was a traitor and a fool, there may be an underlying issue here that needs to be addressed," Lord Rahl said slowly, leaning back in his desk chair.

His expressive gaze flicked from General Egremont to Dahlia. Both stood before his desk, the only audience to this informal conference.

In the days before…before, Dahlia had rarely attended Lord Rahl's impromptu councils of war. Even when she was stationed in the palace temple, she had never been of high enough rank to be summoned.

Besides, Lord Rahl never wanted more advice on any subject than the few cool, concise words he could get from Cara.

"The D'Haran people resent your generosity to the Midlands," agreed General Egremont.

Lord Rahl frowned. He tapped restless fingers against the heavy wood of his desk.

"I won't close the new People's Hospitals or the orphanages for the children of the resistance," Lord Rahl said. "I gave Kahlan my word."

He seemed younger suddenly, and a shadow gathered in his eyes.

Dahlia wondered what memories of Lady Rahl were in his mind.

But, as always, Lord Rahl remained unreadable.

He looked up again and said briskly, "In any case, it is sound policy to place my enemies in debt to me."

"Would it be possible to build hospitals and orphanages for D'Hara as well?" Dahlia pointed out the, to her, obvious.

It was not only in the Midlands that people had suffered. Dahlia dared not guess how many children the Seeker alone had orphaned, in his brief but blazing path of chaos and rebellion through the empire.

"Our resources are not limitless," General Egremont pointed out. "But I know your people would be grateful."

Lord Rahl was still frowning, but the quality of his expression had changed from unsure to thoughtful.

"There's gold enough, if…" his voice trailed off as he pulled a pile of parchment toward himself. "What else is it there for?"

It took a small fortune to feed all the inhabitants of the palace, to begin with, Dahlia thought. And then there were those outward marks of royalty, like Lady Rahl's diamond tiara. Although that particular piece of ludicrously extravagant folly might have been an heirloom.

Lord Rahl was astute about people, but occasionally he seemed remarkably ignorant about the sheer volume of work his subjects put into protecting, feeding, clothing, amusing, and generally supporting him.

Lord Rahl dipped his quill in an inkpot and began to write. With his free hand, he waved a dismissal.

Dahlia gazed down at her lord's bent head with something dangerously close to affection in her heart.

It was more than awe or respect or the love a Mord'Sith owed Lord Rahl as a matter of course. In that moment, she saw not the ruler, but the man.

When Dahlia raised her eyes, she surprised a similar look on General Egremont's face.

They left the room together, but neither spoke. There was no need.

* * *

"And so every hospital and orphanage throughout the empire will admit any person in need, regardless of their village of origin," Lord Rahl announced.

Dahlia, who had permitted her mind to wander a little during the speech, refocused her attention on Lord Rahl's voice. It was rich as Eldorian golden syrup, if not as sweet.

Letting that voice wash over her like a wave breaking was usually preferable to listening to the actual words. Lord Rahl might be an eloquent speaker, but the Mord'Sith preferred action.

This speech, however, could prove an exception.

Far below where Dahlia stood, slightly behind and to the right of Lord Rahl, the assembled masses were swept with first muttering and then cheers.

Lady Rahl stood on Lord Rahl's other side. Dahlia was close enough to see her raised eyebrows, and Lord Rahl's smugly self-mocking smile when he saw her surprise.

Lord Rahl waited for a moment before continuing with the speech, the message of which seemed to be the unity, peace and prosperity that could be achieved if only D'Hara and the Midlands worked together.

Afterward, Lord and Lady Rahl turned away from the edge of the balcony to return to the palace. Dahlia followed.

"Are you certain treating patients from the Midlands and from D'Hara side by side will not result in further violence?" Lady Rahl asked, pausing in the corridor.

She raised her eyes to Lord Rahl's, a challenge lurking in their blue depths. One hand rested on the swell of her stomach, where the heir to the empire grew. She was wearing the emerald earrings.

"As an ancestor of mine, Norman Rahl, is reputed to have said," Lord Rahl replied, "'between justice and genocide there is, in the long run, no middle ground.' I meant what I said, Kahlan: the future is ours to shape."

Lady Rahl raised her eyebrows. She looked…impressed, against her will.

After a moment, Lord Rahl asked, "And will you still visit the hospitals now that some of the patients will be my people instead of yours?"

"I thought you said we were all trying to be one people now," Lady Rahl pointed out.

Dahlia's eyes narrowed. The queen was teasing Lord Rahl.

The only person who had ever had both the nerve and the wit to do so before was Cara.

Dahlia brushed her fingertips against her sheathed agiels, the pain tethering her once more to the present moment.

Lady Rahl glanced at Dahlia and added, "And I don't doubt I shall be safe, when I go to each of the newly united hospitals throughout the Midlands and D'Hara, so long as I have Dahlia to protect me."

Her eyes sparkled.

"Of course," Lord Rahl agreed smoothly, "she will be charmed to assist you."

He gave no indication that he was even aware of Dahlia's presence, but she took the comment for the order it was.

The prospect of more prayer circles with Healers and their dying patients was not one Dahlia anticipated with enthusiasm.

Lady Rahl's compassion was undoubtedly as useless as her jewels, but perhaps both had more purpose than Dahlia had previously given them credit for.

Lady Rahl had not ducked to avoid the arrow that would have pierced her heart. She had demanded and received benefits for the resistance. And she had clung to Dahlia's neck even when the excruciating magic of the agiel ignited her blood. She was an unusual woman.

It would be too much to say Dahlia was charmed to be appointed Lady Rahl's protector and assistant. But she was honored.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> The quote, "Between justice and genocide there is, in the long run, no middle ground," is from Lois McMaster Bujold.
> 
> The incident involving a deluded member of the resistance attempting to kill Kahlan and blame it on Darken in order to restart the war is explored in [Death Wish](http://hrhrionastar.livejournal.com/61995.html#cutid1).
> 
> I consider this part of the honeyverse, the beginning of Dahlia and Kahlan's friendship, but it can be read alone.


End file.
